


Holy

by daddysin



Category: Darkiplier - Fandom, youtube - Fandom
Genre: "I won't write about Dark whine whine whine bitch bitch bitch", And by pit I mean pits of hell hollyyy shhiiittt, Choking, Dry Humping, F/M, ITS TIME TO OPEN UP THIS PIT, It might ??? become darker next chap ??, Porn With Plot, Smut, Vaginal Sex, but until then you get fucked with a cross, he chokes you with his belt ??? that a thing ?? bc I made that a thing tbh, idk jsut enjoy and completely become disgusted with me, improper use of crucifix, like idk what else you guys really want kjdnkjasnd, so I was listening to a song and remember how I was like, so let's get into it, this isn't exactly a Dark! fic, well yeah I'm a fucking L I A R
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2018-12-08 03:09:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11637684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daddysin/pseuds/daddysin
Summary: Drink my tears, I'm at your mercy.Darkiplier fucks you with a crucifix mkay. That's it.





	1. Sacrifice Me

**Author's Note:**

> I lied. wkndjsnadjsnakjdn. Enjoy. Honestly, this isn't even really ??? like Dark! It's mostly just fucking sin and priest kink I mean kjnfdsjfkf. I also recommend listening to Holy by Zolita whilst reading this, I did. It's also the best fucking song.

You'll be the first to admit you've never been a church goer. In fact, it never has interested you, the mumble jumble of Jesus Christ our lord and saviour. The hating of gays and everything else, you then realised you didn't have to be on those people, and you could simply enjoy the religion without string attached so to speak. And so you began going to your local church, the stain glass windows would cast the most beautiful colours indoors on the marble statues. You would say a simple prayer and you'd usually leave but today something - something drove you to stay and you're unsure of what (curiosity?) regardless, you were still here when they were giving their afternoon sermon, he steps from the shadows, glasses on the bridge of his nose - his white suit shirt clinging to the bulging muscles. That shirt was way too small, he was going to give a blessing by raising his hand and rip the thing. You don't even **WANT** to get started on the black slacks.

You wait in anticipation to hear his voice, and oh god, it's like honey every word feels like it's dripping from his mouth and making its way between your thighs. His hair is swept from his face and whilst he reads gospels you find it hard to concentrate, perhaps it's the fact he looks like he was cut from marble. Luckily for you, he's too busy attending to sweet old ladies to notice the fact your eyes have been stuck to his ass since he left the altar. And when he does turn to your pew you simply put some money in the charity basket, give thanks and leave. You were starting to feel suffocated by his beauty.

When you return the next day it's not - as bad. You've had a night to recover but it seems he's moved from afternoon all of a sudden. Suspicious. Although that was all out the window when he proceeded to greet you with those deep brown eyes boring into your soul and the honey glazed voice, you suddenly forget what you were even suspicious about.

"Thank you, uhm ?"

He chuckles and lightly touches your shoulder, "Mark"

Mark. His name was Mark. You begin to wonder how long Mark had been working here, he wasn't around when you were a child and your mother practically forced you through the doors, though that was quite obvious by his age, he had to be at least somewhere in his late twenties. 

"Are you new?"

You're torn from your thoughts, your cheeks heat up, how long had you been standing there staring off into your own world with his hand on your shoulder? You muster up a smile and a quick nod.

"You should come see me after the sermon, in my office, I can give you a copy of the Bible and talk to you about our church"

You go to refuse, politely. Mark reads your body language before you even have the chance to furrow your eyebrows. "It's fine, don't worry. I''m not going to talk you into any of those religious retreats or anything, just for you to see if this church is really for you, if this is really for you"

This man, he seems to have no bad bone in his body - it seems he only wishes to do right by you (and maybe God? Who knows) and so with flushes cheeks you agree and you continue into the church, you've been holding up a crowd for awhile now and when you turn back to look over your shoulder, even though the old women from yesterday are practically throwing themselves at Mark. He's looking at you.

The sermon drags on and soon becomes closer to the end and you begin to sweat. You didn't want to talk to him, not alone anyway. Not out of fear he might hurt you but, he's so gorgeous and if you were to embarrass yourself, people talk and you'd never be able to show your face here again. You get up during the sermon a few times, mainly to use the bathroom sink throwing water on your face. You're well aware of all the wandering eyes that follow you and glare you're sure of interrupting him speak. Mark didn't seem worried, in fact, it seems he goes into his own little world when talking about these things. So you don't understand why everyone else here is getting their panties in a knot.

When it is over, you try to sneak out the back exit. You make eye contact on the way to the door - you feel so guilty considering he's just trying to be nice, you settle for just staring at one of the stain glass window, the purple, pink and blue hues dancing over your skin from the sunlight seeping through. "Are you ready to come?"

You stumble when you hear his voice, making your jump and almost trip into the pews as you turn to face him. "Excuse me?"

"Are you ready to come? To go with me and talk about the church" he has the innocent smile too as though there was nothing wrong with his previous statement and you're beginning to wonder if he's just some innocent priest simply trying to make you feel more at home.

You begin to feel embarrassed as he leads you to his office, you were having these inappropriate thoughts on a completely innocent man, even when he would begin to talk about the sins of the flesh he would become visually uncomfortable and fidget and sift through that part as quick as he could. All the while you were sitting in the pews fanning yourself and clutching your thighs together as to not drip on the wooden seat below you.

"Have a seat"

He outstretches his arm as he rounds his desk, as sits in the - is that velvet? - seat.

"So, what brought you to our church?"

"Well," you pause. What did? Him? "I used to come here when I was a child. I suppose as an adult I need - a little direction"

Mark nods, reaching into his desk to pull out the bible, placing it between you both, the gold lettering sparkling. You'd never read the thing and you're hoping he's not proposing you do in order to stay. "Well, here at our church we're all fairly close knit. Like a family, and it would be great to have a new member"

You thank him and take the book tucking it into your bag. You sit in silence after that, are you supposed to ask questions?

Pushing some hair from your face you open your mouth to say a simple thank you and goodbye, and before you can he's beat you to the next word. "Do you want to fuck me" Mark takes his glasses off and places them rather carefully on the desk looking to you.

Before you know it you're standing mumbling a bunch of sorries and saying you have to leave. Mark places his hands firmly against the wood, palms flat and fingers slightly spread, the arms of his shirt rolled up to the elbows veins pulsing underneath his smooth skin.

"Sit"

And you do, the order is firm but not hostile. Reminds you of your mother when you refuse to eat your vegetables. "Mark, I'm sorry but I really must go. I have animals to feed"

"Answer my question you can go"

At this point Mark has rounded the desk and is now sitting on a corner in front of you, he's so close to you. One of his legs is barely inches from your own. "I'm - I'm not comfortable answering that"

"No? But we're all a family here, there is nothing to be worried about"

Was this a test?

"Yes. I mean, I have thought about it once or twice"

You can't even look him the eye you're so embarrassed. You'd just admitted to your priest that on a daily basis you think about fucking him. Even worse you have to show your face here, every day. If you don't everyone will talk and he'll know. There is no win you're afraid.

"Bend over the desk"

You choke on your spit, literally. You're sent into practically a coughing fit. This isn't real, you've fallen asleep during the sermon. This is all a dream.

Except it's not and this is much the real world and your priest is practically asking you to - sin? Oh god, how ironic. At this point even though you've stood and have in fact moved to lay across the front of the desk, you're beginning to regret returning to this place of apparently sin and filth. But, you can't say you're completely innocent yourself. You hear his belt, the tug of the leather against the loops as it slips from his pants and you're second guessing everything in your head, giving consent even agreeing to this and quite honestly, you could just leave - if he was to try and stop you or threaten you, you could simply press charges.

Of course, instead, you chose to stay even as he lifts you head somewhat to wrap the leather around your throat and tug until it's snuggly pressed against your skin. Mark gives you a look though, seems his manners haven't left him - that's a plus you suppose. Regardless, you give pause before nodding and it seems that's all he needs, he positions you more comfortably than you had placed yourself on the desk before lifting your skirt when you whine he tugs on the belt. Its purpose made evidently and the tug is far from soft, your gag reflex reacted when he had done so.

It isn't until you feel a (wooden object?) against your skin that you begin to panic inside, you're trying to remember him picking up anything, though your memory seems to be shot - that makes you panic more. You feel the blunt object first against the back of your thigh, then on the outside of your cotton panties. It feels, like a cross? Thank Christ it's the end of it and not the top - you don't even want to imagine. Mark seems to just pull your panties to the side as he presses the wooden object to your own lips - lube, of course. You don't object, you'd rather have the thing slick with saliva before he shoves it inside you anyway, Mark has been rather quiet during this whole ordeal. 

It wasn't something you'd expect, in fact, you'd expect him to be rather foul mouthed but it seems his mother raised him a certain way and it probably involved punishment - especially with the vibe he's giving off. Monkey see monkey do and all that.

Your eyes practically roll into the back of your skull when he pushes in, you suddenly feel more relaxed and not as pent up and stiff as you were before - you've become lax. Mark doesn't seem to mind, he's concentrated on making you cum with a holy object, though now I suppose it would be deemed an unholy object.

You let out small puffs of breath, Mark has tightened his grip on the belt wrapped around your throat he's even pushes himself against you while he continues his ministrations you can feel the warmth of his cock through his pants. It makes you shudder in the contrast to your cold skin - damn air conditioning.

Mark pulls your head back, bowing your body so he can press his face into your neck inhaling your scent and letting out rather short breaths and growls. Even if he doesn't speak the sounds are enough to make you wet for a whole month, that you can promise. He presses the cross deeper, Mark has then begun speaking to himself, literally having a silent conversation and whilst you can't really make out what he's saying, he has now wrapped some of the belt tightly around his fist - he's pulling tighter and whilst you're panting and whimpering, a part of you in the back of your mind wonders if he actually has the gall to kill you. 

At this point though, you don't care, your cunt is gripping the cross as if it's afraid it'll leave you body and leave you unsatisfied.

"Not worthy"

Is - Is he talking to you? Is he directly speaking to you? You push yourself against the cross, Mark growls and pushes you forward, angry with the fact you're trying to assert some type of dominance, to control your own orgasm.

"Mark"

He hums, understanding without there needing to be any more said, he picks up the pace - biting into the skin of your shoulder through your thin shirt, growling and bucking his own hips into your thigh. And whilst you're cumming onto a fucking crucifix you're sure - if not mistaken Mark has cum himself, in his own pants. It's all grunts and mumbles under his breath. Scripture? Is he repeating that at a moment like this?

He shakes his head, his forehead pressed to your shoulder - angrily removing the cross a **CLUNK** to the floor, the same with his belt, he slams that against the desk. You suddenly feel as though you've overstayed your welcome. Mark doesn't watch you leave, in fact, he hasn't looked at you at all, during the sex or after. Well, apart from the _"Not worthy"_ comment.

You're embarrassed, you stand, pull your skirt down remove the bible from your bag and leave, some of the women from earlier have stayed behind, eyes wide and the purple bruising around your throat, and as you pass you hear whispers. About having an abused boyfriend and seeking help, you fight the urge to turn and tell them you've just been fucked in the most sinful way imaginable but you hold your tongue. For your sake.

For your sake.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is no happiness here. u guys know what I'm like. So just angst and some dying.

Twelve months. Twelve months of dating, of sharing a bathroom, a bedroom. Twelve months of happiness.

Or, not.

At first it hadn’t bothered you, you yourself were busy – work, friends, night outs. It became more apparent when you fell ill around May, he would come home, take his shoes off and place them delicately almost immaculate by the door, you’d watch him remove his coat, reach out a hand for some physical contact as a “Hello” he’d strut past you, into his office and lock the door.

It was then you began to regret and even rethink your relationship with Mark. Had you done something recently? Said or even put something out of place? Mark preferred the house to be spotless and when it wasn’t he threw an adult-sized tantrum. Yelling and throwing things, to you it was nothing more than a bitch fit, you’d simply roll your eyes and leave.

You’d return around 11pm and sleep on the couch, he’d apologise – but you’d never fully forgive him. You didn’t agree to this mess, to be looking after an adult baby. It was mainly the sex.

It was another three weeks when you began to suspect Mark was perhaps cheating on you, and it wasn’t a lipstick on his collar, or him coming home late hours sort of cheating. No. It was you quietly working in your office, lights dimmed low to truly get into the mood, door locked and the house completely silent.

You’d leave to get a cup of coffee every few hours, and when you had descended the steps, Mark would be on the couch channel surfing.

You’d joke about when he got in, he was so quiet and it was then, his response. I’d been here all day. But it wasn’t true, because you’d been here all day and there wasn’t as much as a mouse pattering across the floor. You’d narrow your eyes at the man, wondering if had thought you were asleep, would sneak in and act as though he hadn’t been missing most of the morning.

The signs continued on like a steam train running the same line over and over. He was becoming not only more distant but more insistent on moving from the big city to a small country side. He’d praise the green pastures and the beautiful smell of fresh air, the idea of having a family and perhaps even a farm. You weren’t against the idea and you even encouraged Mark’s big dream and thoughts for the future. But that was the problem, you saw it as future perhaps two-three years from now. Mark saw it as next weeks or even sooner than that.

You’d attempt a grown conversation one where you explained you were so young to think about children, you had barely been going out for that long and you weren’t even engaged. Mark would just apply more pressure even saying he’d marry you know if that’s what was stopping the both of you from living this “country side” dream.

And before you had known it, you had packed and were moving to the sweet sunny countryside. The air always smelt like fresh lemongrass and the breeze was something of a dream.

And yet, you were supposed to be happy, ecstatic even. But Mark became more distant, he wouldn’t have dinner, he was never really home.

What was so interesting out in that fucking bushland that he couldn’t come home to the one he loved?

Then it hit you, you weren’t the one he loved, at least not anymore.

And for you that was the last straw, you packed your shit – no, HIS shit. Placed it all out on the porch, the locked the doors and turned the lights out. He wasn’t even worth tears.

Of course, much expected him to have keys, but to be standing at the end of your bed at 2 in the morning soaking wet? No.

“Do you think this is a fucking joke?”

“No, I want you out of my house Mark”

He scoffs, rolls his eyes and shakes his head. His head is hung low, staring at the ground pondering to himself. “This is my house; my name is on the mortgage. It’s you who shouldn’t be here”

And that’s all you needed to hear, he didn’t want you here? Then you were gone, faster than he could blink.

“Wait, that came out wrong. I want you here – “

“Are you sure Mark? When was the last time we even had dinner together you’re so caught up in whatever pussy is latched onto the end of your dick that you don’t even remember I exist!”

He furrows his brows, “What?”

“The girl you’re fucking Mark, how dense are you?”

“I’m not-“he begins but then it seems he’s either forgotten or he had no argument in the first place.

You continue your rant for a while, the lying and coldness of him and Mark seems to take it, just soak in everything you’re saying like a wall. It annoys you more than everything that led up to this point, to this burst of emotion. You’re astounded that you were so cock drunk you didn’t notice al these flaws.

“I’m leaving you Mark. I don’t want you to contact me by any means, telephone, letter I don’t care. I don’t want to see or hear from you for the rest of my life. I’m going to spend the night and then I’m going. Can we agree to that amicably?”

You move to the end of the bed, touch his hand for comfort. You’re not a total heartless monster.

Mark though. He is.

His hands wrap around your throat, pushing you into the fluffy duvet and pillows underneath you. You grab at his arms and wrists, cycling between the two hoping one will give out and you’re able to make an exit. You have no voice he’s squeezing so hard, you’re left to nothing but gasps tears and the mouthing of the words, you’re hurting me.

But Mark isn’t there, he doesn’t seem to be responding to anything, to your slapping of his arms to the slapping of his face attempting to push his upper body away. You know for a split second that may even be the end for you, and you’ve fought enough, the arguing the twelve months of amazing sex mingled with the child-like attitude of Mark. You’re over it, over his bullshit. All because he was some nice fucking priest that made you feel good.

You tilt your head, to watch the rain rush down the window, the small bird preening it’s nest checking on its eggs. The beautiful shadow the tree casts into the room every time a strike of lighting thrashes down accompanied by a boom o thunder. Yeah. This is how you want to go, not in your old age living on this stupid fucking farm with the man who you’ve come to despise.

You’d rather go with a small whimper than a kiss to lips that has little to no meaning at all.


End file.
